Still keeping it together.
Still keeping it together,
Like holding up a sand castle
Before it slides through my fingers
To become just more sand
Can still do this.
Choice to run.
Hold it together.
There’s no way to tell
When each step is a period
Each heartbeat an exclamation
“You’re going to pilot this.”
You look up and up and yet still farther up at the machine towering over you. “Pilot…” You never thought you’d be the type to stammer, but if stammering was ever called for, well, now was the time.
You look back up at the machine over you. It has a humanoid form, but that only makes it more terrifying. Like an angry, horned, winged giant. That some lady with a clipboard wants you to climb into.
“Are you ready?” Clipboard asks.
Of course the fuck not! But instead you feel yourself nodding. Because some small piece of your brain finds this all unbearably cool.
“Great,” Cliboard says. “Then put this on.”
The plastic outfit she holds out to you wouldn’t cover a child half your size, let alone a full grown adult.
“I have to wear that,” you point at the plastic lingerie, “to pilot that?” you point at the leering giant.
“Get to it, recruit!”
After building a chair, she fell in love with the hammer. The chair was sturdy. The hammer had made the chair. She sat every day in that sturdy chair and loved the hammer more and more for making it.
The hammer loved her back. It sat on the shelf and waited. They built more chairs. The hammer sang with every stroke, pounded faithfully into board after board.
Soon her house was filled with chairs. She kept making them in order to use the hammer and make it happy. But she could only make so many. Soon, chairs filled every corner, their legs tangled like rigid spider webs throughout the house.
She stopped making chairs. The hammer sat on the shelf. Gathering dust.
My brain is not working today. Only M words.
My many meetings matter. Magnificent memos make my meetings memorable. Most meetings may meander. My meetings magnify memos, make memos masterpieces, make meaning meaningful.
Inspired by my insatiable hunger for the red bean ice cream fish at the Uwajimaya booth in the convention center.
My prize was not a princess but a fish.
I braved the moving mountains. I traversed the dumb hordes. I shoved past demons, dragons and dark mages.
And for my struggle, I earned yet another trial. My fish lay but feet away, but between her and I thronged a crowd of pushing, shoving beasts. I ducked and dodged my way through. A scythe swung at my face. I dove, rolled, popped back up to my feet.
I caught my breath at the edge of the fish tank containing my prize and gazed down at her waffle cone scales.
I rented the tomato plant in their front yard. It didn’t provide much in the way of shade, but the authentic nature smell made me feel like one of those real old-timely “outdoorists” you hear about. You know, back when “outdoors” was a thing.
Lying under my tomato plant with its tentative green fruit, I pretend I’m outside and the air all smells this sweet.
Sharks learned to fly. They wove between the trees, as sinuous as snakes. The deer fell prey first. Cautious as they were, nature had not prepared them for sharks. The massive creatures did not sneak, but the grace they’d learned in the water made their silvery bodies mesmerizing as they wound through the forest. The deer froze as though caught in headlights and the sharks lunged, catching the deer in their jaws before the hapless creatures could so much as flick their ears.